The characters, places and situations of Doc Martin, are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story makes no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.

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WARNING! This is a post-Series 6 story. If you have not seen Doc Martin Series 6, this story may ruin any number of surprises for you as it begins just at the end of series 6 - Episode 8. Therefore, proceed at your own peril…

I looked hard at her. "Might have?"

She ducked her head. "Yeah."

"I distinctly recall… that you did."

Louisa sat back. "You caught me. Sorry. Didn't know you wouldn't like it."

"Like it?"

She scooted herself backwards. "Perhaps we ought to go." She started to stand up but I grabbed her right hand. "Stop," I said. "Please."

"But I thought, uhm, it bothered you," she said looking at me warily.

That made me sigh. "Not at all."

Louisa stood in a half crouch then slowly sat back down. "Oh."

James rolled onto his back then grunted and I smelled a familiar odor. "He'll need a nappy," I said then reached across Louisa's legs to get the baby bag. "I'll change him."

She stopped my hand. "Why are we always interrupted?"

I shrugged. "Things happen."

She nodded.

"Did you mean it?" I asked.

"Mean what?" she asked.

I sighed. "What you said."

"When?"

"When I was, uhm, sleeping."

She fiddled with her hair. "What did you… what do you mean? What did you hear?"

Why was this so hard? I had sat on the grass and had an extremely blunt and pointblank conversation with Aunt Ruth, a person I had not seen for many years, whole decades in fact, but now I was right next to the one person I wished to be with - and now I could not say it properly.

I took a deep breath and said. "'Oh Martin, I need you. So much.' At least I think that's what you told me."

She ducked her head, hiding her face under her hair. "You weren't asleep then."

"Not entirely."

Her shoulders fell. "God. I'm sorry."

"Why in heaven's name are you apologizing?"

Now she looked up and I could see one eye and half a mouth behind the curtain of hair. "Sorry."

I reached out and brushing her hair away from her face, touched her cheek. "Louisa there is no need to be sorry."

She smiled and kissed my finger.

"Why do you keep doing that?" I blurted out.

"The… kissing?"

"Mm."

"I told you in hospital I didn't want things to go back to the way they were."

"Yes," I sighed. "I know."

"Don't want us to pretend that everything's fine."

"Yes… ahem… I know." I watched her carefully, troubled of what she might say. Were we done? Had I bollixed things up once more the way I always did?

She stroked my hand slowly. "How else can we make it work out, Martin? Yelling? Fist fights?"

I shook my head no.

"We didn't date, really, not much to speak of." She looked away then back. "Sometimes I think I don't know you at all, and then wham! Out of nowhere you do something so extraordinary that it knocks me off my feet, like your proposal."

"Ah. I was…" my voice locked.

"Go on," she prompted me. "You can tell me."

"I was desperate Louisa; just bloody desperate. I'd ruined the concert, uhm, with my words, and…" I had to stop again, feeling the ice was very thin under my feet.

She smiled a brilliant smile. "But you did ask me to get married."

I looked down at James who was now on his side and smelling even more of poo. "We made a baby, Louisa, if not that time not long after."

She chuckled. "But as I recall… well… it was fine. I was nervous though."

"Me too," I said softly recalling that entire night as if it was an impossible dream. "Perhaps not my best moment."

She kissed my hand again. "But we, uhm, we, got used to one another."

I shook my head. "I've not made you happy, though."

"Martin, this picnic was a dream to me; I mean I'd no idea you'd actually go through with it; half expected you to make some silly excuse."

"I only thought it might, ahem, I ought to make an effort…" my voice fell. "To satisfy you, for once."

She let my hand go and pulled her knees up to her chest. Hugging them one armed looking at the sea she muttered, "So pretty – beautiful actually."

Her hair was blowing about her slim neck and beautiful face, the dark strands curled around her exquisite ear. "Breath taking," I murmured, but didn't mean the ocean.

She turned her head. "Martin, what I said, when you were dozing or whatever, and I'm not sorry I said it. I do need you." I saw her lips quiver and tears spring to her eyes, and that's when the screaming started – somewhere behind us.